


Connection

by ddagent



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Crushes, F/M, Friendship, Skype
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Despite Jaime being in the North and Brienne in King's Landing, the work partners and friends continue their daily morning coffee.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 76
Kudos: 214





	Connection

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this lighthearted fluff!

The hotel phone rang. And rang. On what felt like the hundredthring, Jaime Lannister picked up and placed the receiver against his ear. “’ _ello_?”

“ _Mister Lannister, this is Alys at reception. This is your seven-thirty reminder—”_

 _“_ —fuck!” Jaime jolted upright in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand and blinking against the early morning light. There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Apologies, Alys, I slept through my other alarm. Thank you, though.”

Quickly, Jaime ended the call, threw the bedsheets to one side, and rushed over to the table in the hotel room. Grabbing his laptop, Jaime opened the lid and booted up the machine. His phone, plugged into a nearby charging socket, said 7.32 am. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ He was already late. He’d stayed up late last night talking with Brienne about his hotel room, the case, how much of the Wall he could see from his window (not nearly enough). And when he’d dreamt, he’d dreamt of beautiful blue eyes. 

And now he was late to see them. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ His computer loaded up and Jaime clicked on the _Scry_ desktop icon. There was nothing he could do about his bedhead or pyjamas. Jaime _could,_ however, put on the small kettle in his room so he could have a coffee while he talked to his best friend. It began to whistle as the video-conferencing software connected to a laptop many miles away in King’s Landing. 

\--

Brienne fiddled with her hair as she waited for the _Scry_ connection to go through. Such a _ridiculous_ thing to be doing: Jaime had seen her at seven-thirty in the morning _many_ a time. He’d seen her at her best in court; at her worst at one am looking through depositions. Despite her best friend and partner being all the way up North, this was just their regular early morning coffee. 

No need to primp for a man who would never return her affections. 

The connection was made, and suddenly Brienne was accosted by Jaime looking _unbelievably_ gorgeous. His dark-blonde hair was tousled; there were pillow lines across his face. He wore a _Blackfish_ cover band t-shirt that was, in fact, Brienne’s. Jaime looked sleepy and soft, and it just wasn’t _fair._ Why had the Gods allowed such a man to be created at all, let alone allow him to be friends with someone who resembled _her?_

Uncomfortable, Brienne resorted to an old tactic: deflection and distraction. “Are you in your pyjamas?”

_“My meeting with the client isn’t until midday.”_

“That’s not what I asked, Jaime.” 

He shrugged. _“I had a late night talking with this woman.”_ Jaime leant closer to the webcam and threw her a sultry grin _. “We stayed up until one am. She was saying the_ filthiest _things to me.”_

Brienne flushed, and prayed to the Maiden Jaime’s resolution was low quality. “I was _merely_ suggesting you could re-purpose the complimentary toiletries into your sponge bag for your next trip.”

\--

Jaime bit his lip and groaned. “Keep talking dirty, Tarth. Tell me more about those courtesy perks.”

Even over the webcam, Jaime could see Brienne’s flushed face. That blush covered her cheeks; ruddy splotches across her neck and throat. The skin visible by her open collar was stained pink. Other than her blush, Brienne was as neat as a pin: pressed jacket, crisp shirt, not a hair out of place. How this woman could look so put together at seven-thirty in the morning, Jaime did not know. But he did love that blush. 

“ _I hate you.”_

“No, you don’t.” Jaime grinned. Every one of their morning coffee meetings started exactly the same way. Although, this time, Jaime didn’t have coffee. “Hold on, let me get my drink.”

Instant coffee granules, bathroom tap water, and a near-expired carton of milk later, and Jaime returned to his laptop bearing his cup of coffee. He usually began the day with an iced caramel macchiato with whipped cream and, depending on the barista, extra fudge pieces. There was often a doughnut as well, where he’d get sugar on his lip and watch Brienne stare at his mouth until she basically shoved a napkin against his face. Those were the mornings he liked best. 

_“No doughnut today?”_

“Sadly not. I have yet to venture down for the complimentary continental breakfast. Do you have any money-saving tips, Tarth?” He adopted a sensuous tone. “Tell me about tea bags and wrapping pastries in napkins.” 

\--

“Why did I agree to this?” 

“ _Because you said you’d miss our daily morning coffees.”_

Brienne was starting to forget _why_ she had said such a thing. She remembered where: Jaime’s office at the King’s Landing branch of Stark, Tully, and Reed. She remembered how: Catelyn had just informed him that he was to oversee a trademark dispute on behalf of a client north of Winterfell. After nearly two years of working together, they had _finally_ reached a point where Brienne would miss Jaime if she didn’t see him. And, to her eternal mistake, had uttered as such. 

_“Do you miss me, Tarth?”_

“I miss coffee. I’ve yet to have mine.” It was just then that one of the waitstaff of the _Golden Knight Grind_ brought over Brienne’s order: Dornish Breakfast Tea and a bagel, lightly toasted and buttered. As the waitress relayed her order, Brienne saw Jaime repeat it out of the corner of her eye. Normally, she would kick him under the table. Hard to do that in a teleconference. “Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” The waitress briefly glanced at Brienne’s laptop, and at the golden god sitting eagerly for Brienne’s attention. “Wow. He’s cute.” 

In a hotel room in the North, Jaime Lannister beamed. _“Thank you.”_ Brienne let out a low sigh. Another mistake. _“You don’t think I’m cute, Tarth?”_

“I–I—”

The waitress leaned into the webcam and offered Jaime a dazzling smile. “Well, I think you’re cute.”

\--

“I’m sorry, Miss, but this is a business meeting,” Jaime said, trying to appear professional with his hair sticking up in all directions and a threadbare t-shirt that his partner had often worn to bed before he’d stolen it from her flat. “I’m sure my colleague here will provide you with an excellent tip for your service, but we have a series of important things to discuss.” 

The waitress appeared flustered, as people often were when Jaime didn’t kowtow to their batted eyelashes and overdone compliments. Brienne, as promised, thanked the waitress and handed her a ten-dragon note. Then it was just the two of them again. _“Okay, so, Jaime—”_

“Do you really not think I’m cute, Tarth?” 

“ _Jaime.”_ Brienne gave him that familiar glare that was part fondness and part exasperation. Even over a webcam, the effect was not lost upon him. And, even over a webcam, his counteracting charm wore her down. “Fine. _You’re cute, is that what you want to hear?”_

He grinned. “You think I’m cute.” Brienne huffed. “I think so, too, by the way.”

She snorted; a smile cracking through that stormy veneer. _“You think you’re cute, too?”_

“No. I think _you’re_ cute.”

\--

The coffee shop was loud. The whistle of the cappuccino machine; the clank of cutlery; the chatter of students, businessmen and commuters. Yet, Brienne heard those words clear through the din. _I think you’re cute._ They’d come a long way with their friendship over the last two years, but this was the first time either of them had strayed into something _more._ Perhaps it was easier over _Scry._ A bad connection could be blamed for all manner of unrequited utterings. Not that they were unrequited. Far from it.

On her laptop screen, Jaime smiled and took a sip of his coffee. He immediately wrinkled his nose _. “This is disgusting.”_

“You should go get some proper coffee.” 

_“I think I will. Should probably get dressed, too.”_ He raked a hand through his hair and offered her yet another smile. Hundreds of miles away and Jaime Lannister still made her stomach flutter. _“Same time tomorrow, Tarth?”_

“Same time tomorrow.” And the day after. And the day after that. Two weeks of morning coffees. Maybe the next time they sat in the _Golden Knight Grind,_ they could split one of those sugary doughnuts Jaime loved to eat. _Maybe._ “I’ll see you then. Get some proper coffee this time. And no pyjamas!” 

\--

“Spoilsport.”

Jaime beamed and ended the connection. Tomorrow, he’d conduct his _Scry_ call just after he’d stepped out of the shower. And, _maybe,_ after two weeks of telecommuting their regular coffee, they could have their daily brew in one of their apartments. 


End file.
